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Bulletin of the American Rock Garden Society CONTENTS VOL. 45 NO. 1 WINTER 1987 Life with a Rock Garden — Laura Louise Foster 1 Rock Garden Daisies — Panayoti Kelaidis 21 Transplantation and Propagation of Zygadenus glaucus — James L Hodgins 23 Alpines '86 Review — 1 The Pre-Conference Tour — Nicholas Klise 24 On Garden Conferences — Ellen Wilde 29 Some Thoughts from the Conference — Sieglinde Anderson 30 Is It Evergreen? — Roy Davidson 31 The Fires of Winter — Vaughn Aiello 33 A Puzzle — Perhaps? — Brian Bixley 35 Victor Reiter, Jr. — Marjory Harris 37 Tips on Growing Primula — Herbert Dickson 39 The Propagation of Herbaceous Plant Material at Low Temperatures in Midwinter — Herbert Fischer 41 Aquilegia bertolonii 'Blue Berry' — Roy Davidson 45 Omnium-Gatherum — SFS 46 CALENDAR OF COMING EVENTS Eastern Winter Study Weekend (Hudson Valley Chapter) Stouffers Westchester Hotel January 23-25, 1987 Harrison, NY Western Winter Study Weekend (Northwestern Chapter) Red Lion Inn February 27-March 1, 1987 Bellevue, WA Annual Meeting (Connecticut Chapter) Sheraton-Hartford Hotel May 22-25, 1987 Hartford, CT Western Winter Study Weekend (Western Chapter) 1988 Annual Meeting (Columbia-Willamette) 1988 Cover photo: Erigeron chrysopsidis — Phil Pearson, Photographer (See p. 21 for related article) Published quarterly by the AMERICAN ROCK GARDEN SOCIETY, a tax-exempt, non-profit organization incorporated under the laws of the state of New Jersey You are invited to join. Annual dues {Bulletin included), to be submitted in U S funds or International Money Order, are: General Membership, $15.00 (includes domestic or foreign, single or joint — two at same address to receive one Bulletin, one Seed List); Patron, $50.00; Life Member (individual only), over 55, $300; under 55, $350. Membership inquiries and dues should be sent to Buffy Parker, 15 Fairmead Rd., Darien, CT. 06820. The office of publication is located at 15 Fairmead Rd.. Darien, CT 06820. Address editorial matters pertaining to the Bulletin to the Editor, Sharon Sutton, P.O. Box 1371, Port Townsend, WA 98368. Address advertising matters to Anita Kistler, 1421 Ship Rd , West Chester, PA. 19380. Second Class Postage paid in Darien, CT., and additional offices. Postmaster: Send address changes to Bulletin of the American Rock Garden Society (ISSN 0003 0864) 15 Fairmead Rd., Darien, CT 06820. VOL. 45 WINTER 1987 NO. 1 Bulletin of the mencan Rock Garden Societu Life with a Rock Garden Laura Louise Foster Falls Village, Connecticut Living with a rock garden rather quickly leads to the question of whether you own the rock garden or it owns you, though perhaps the relationship is more of a symbiosis than a question of ownership. Certainly the rock garden is dependent on the gardener for its existence, but the rock gardener very soon discovers he is almost equally dependent on rock gardening. Let me point out, however, that though a person can rather easily become infected with rock garden fever, this does not necessarily mean he will come down with its most virulent form, plantsmanship, and despite continual exposure for over 30 years, I am among these. The chances of my becoming even a rock gardener where highly unlikely. I was brought up on a sand dune on the southeastern tip of Long Island, New York, within spitting distance of the Atlantic Ocean. My personal 1 Life with a Rock Garden experience with rock gardens was not only practically nil, it was decidedly negative. Those few I have seen in the front yards of the houses on that end of Long Island were of two kinds. The most common was a moderately steep, short bank alongside the road or driveway, pocked with rounded stones (fre• quently painted) and planted with thin weedy grass, glowing magenta moss pink, a few half-dead bearded iris, cerise portulaca, and occasionally some clumps of marigolds and a sprinkling of spindly snapdragons. In the other more ambitious type of rock garden the stones were piled in the center of the lawn. The plantings were similar to those in the bank type, but were usually enlivened by a pedestaled, cast concrete bird bath and sometimes a gnome or two or a squatting painted plaster boy holding a fishpole. It was with this background in rock gardening that I heard my newly acquired fiance enthusiastically announce that the property onto which we were about to move would make an ideal site for a rock garden. I was appalled to say the least, but as a bride-to-be, I tried to conceal my dismay by saying I had rather hoped to plant ferns and wildflowers under the trees. Line un• doubtedly sensed my feelings for he quickly told me that wildflowers were perfectly suitable in a rock garden. When I suggested in a small voice that I had heard rock gardens were a great deal of work, he pooh-poohed the idea, and waving away the tangle of brush, grapevine, nettles, and scouring rush that occupied the prospective rock garden, said, "You'll see. Once we get rid of this stuff and get it planted, it will practically take care of itself." Limited as my experience with gardening was, I was a bit doubtful; no garden I knew of took care of itself, but I felt it was hardly the moment to say so. Little did I know what I was getting into. I soon discovered that in marrying Line I was not only marrying a rock garden, but the American Rock Garden Society. Shortly before our wedding Line off-handedly mentioned that he had recently taken over the job of handling the society's seed exchange and he hoped I wouldn't mind helping him. It may seem to you that I was extremely dumb not to realize I was marrying a confirmed rock gardener prior to taking the fateful step. I knew, of course, of his interest in plants. He talked of very little else, but in those days it was mostly of rhododendrons and azaleas. He was at that time working for Great Mountain Forest in Norfolk, where among other things, he was growing tree seedlings for the experimental plantations. His main enthusiasm, however, was for the work he was doing hybridizing rhododendrons. This was the primary topic of conversation on our first date. As my side of Canaan Moun• tain, in an extension of the valley of the Housatonic River, was underlain by limestone, I expressed surprise that he could grow these plants in limy soil. I was rather pleased to be able to come up with this remark so glibly. It happened that it was about the extent of my knowledge on the subject. Line explained, "Only the valleys are limy. Canaan Mountain is schist 2 Life with a Rock Garden and Norfolk has acid soil. The problem is that most rhododendrons, except a few iron-clads, aren't hardy in this climate and most of these are magenta in color. What I'm trying to do is hybridize tender ones with the hardy ones so as to create hardy strains with greater variation in growth habit and flower color." He was off and running, and as the unfamiliar terms rained upon my head, all I could do was nod and try to look intelligent and occasionally inter• ject "Uh-hunh" and "How exciting!" at what I hoped were appropriate moments. I guess I passed muster, as Line continued to date me and in the spring he invited me over to see his plants. I was enthralled by the azaleas and rhododendrons. Some were deliciously scented and of charming pastel shades. Rather as an afterthought he showed me two small rock gardens he had built for his employer, Mr. Childs. These were a vast improvement over those I had seen on Long Island: no painted plaster dwarfs and some of the flowers were truly lovely, small of stature and brilliant with blossoms. But the gardens had been neglected and were fairly full of the weedy grasses that I associated with rock gardens. I was not overly impressed. Line courted me that spring and summer with plants for the tiny garden I had started behind my house and won over my two boys by taking them, along with his own two chldren Becky and Ben, on excursions and picnics during which we collected frogs, snakes, and salamanders as well as wildflowers. It took me several months to decide I wanted to embark on matrimony again, but I finally succumbed and announced to my family that I was planning to marry Line. Aunt Do, my only local relative, who had been partially responsible for introducing me to Line, was delighted, perhaps because she was only too glad to foist on someone else the responsibility of keeping an eye on a head• strong niece with two small sons. She did have a cautionary comment, however, "Are you sure you want to spend the rest of your life with a dour New Englander?" "Line was born in New Jersey," I countered, "and I don't think he's all that dour." Her next question was more to the point, "And where are you going to live?" She already knew that Line was leaving his job with Great Mountain Forest and was planning to go back into teaching and that the house he was living in in Norfolk went with his job and would therefore not be available to us. She also knew that the little house I was renting from her would be much too small for a family of six. This had presented us with a quandary at first, as rental houses in the area were about as common as igloos in Hawaii, but I was glad to be able to tell her that Line's boss had offered to rent us an old vacant farm house he owned on top of Canaan Mountain.